


All Souls Pass

by A_God_A_Vampire_And_Two_Heirs_Of_Durin



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Only really GImli/Legolas slash if you want to read it that way, Past Character Death, Sibling Incest, Valinor, mentioned Durincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1845799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_God_A_Vampire_And_Two_Heirs_Of_Durin/pseuds/A_God_A_Vampire_And_Two_Heirs_Of_Durin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The time has come for Legolas and Gimli to sail into the West to the Undying Lands, but the dwarf cannot help but remember those of his kin who were lost to him and wonder whether he will ever see them again, in particular, his two closest cousins, Fíli and Kíli.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Souls Pass

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm aware that there are a few points in this which are not entirely canon-compliant in terms of Valinor, and I'll point them out here, but I hope that this story is still enjoyable :)
> 
> 1) I know that dwarves aren't supposed to go to Valinor and they are instead recalled to Mahal to await rebirth, but since Mahal resides in Valinor himself, who's to say that the dwarves aren't actually there too.
> 
> 2) I'm also aware that Merry, Pippin and Aragorn all die in Middle Earth and that taking a dead body to the Undying Lands probably doesn't revive it, but oh well - and obviously, as you'll see, men - or hobbits really - aren't supposed to end up in Valinor either, they should be in the Halls of Mandos, but it's unclear what actually happens to them there anyway.
> 
> 3) I've messed around with Dwalin's timeline to suit the plot.
> 
>  
> 
> Title from 'Into the West'

The High Sea stretched like silver glass in all directions, the small boat making barely a ripple as it passed smoothly on its course. Behind, Middle Earth was shrouded in a grey mist while the West opened up into wide shores on the horizon. It was as though they had passed through an unseen curtain which now revealed their destination in its full glory to them.

At his place at the helm, seated against the boards and with his back to the West, Gimli fixed his eyes on rapidly fading shoreline, as though hoping to commit his last view of his former home firmly to memory.

Part of him was sad to leave it. When he had been younger, barely reaching adulthood, still a dwarfling though he fiercely denied it at the time, he had watched a number of his kin leave their homes, never to return. He’d spent his childhood in the Blue Mountains and had grown up on tales, as they all had, of the Lonely Mountain. And then, when Erebor had been reclaimed, he had lived there, though he’d always found it emptier than the stories he had been told had made it seem; he blamed that on the part of him which remained in mourning for his lost kin.

Now it was just over 122 years since he’d set out with the rest of the Fellowship from Rivendell, an age ago, and he had travelled to almost every corner of Middle Earth, before founding his own Dwarf kingdom below Helm’s Deep; Legolas by his side, of course. He and the elf had been inseparable since they’d realised that actually their races could be friends. Looking up now, he caught the elf smiling at him, the large oar gripped tightly in one hand as he guided the boat with practised ease. Gimli couldn’t help but think that the first time he’d seen an oar such as that was after they’d left Lórien. Everything was such a long time ago now.

They had ended their journeying together in Gondor, Legolas building their boat in Ilthilien before they had loaded it and sailed down the Anduin and out into the Sea. It was a simple boat, just suited to their needs; a sparse deck, a set of sails and an oar, and space below deck to store their precious cargo. Gimli bowed his head in sorrow at the state they had had to take them across in, he would have much preferred for them to have been alive and up on deck smiling and laughing with him, than to know that they were below, cold and still on their deathbeds. The bodies of the two hobbits, Merry and Pippin, and King Elessar, though Gimli had never ceased to call him Aragorn, had to be kept safe for their journey. It was imperative.

“We will see them again, Gimli,” Legolas spoke up suddenly, seeing straight into the dwarf’s thoughts as he always did. “When we reach the Undying Lands and their spirits are resurrected.”

It was a comforting thought, to know that they would be together again.

“Do you think they’ll be waiting for us?” he asked gruffly, his brow furrowing as he looked up at the elf.

“Of course,” Legolas smiled, “They’ll be waiting for us on the shores.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence before Gimli spoke again.

“Give me that oar,” he said, “It must be nearly my turn now.”

Legolas chuckled to himself and shook his head.

“Rest, Gimli,” he said gently, “Your arms are not what they used to be, and we both know that it would tire you out before too long.”

If it had been any other elf, or even any other dwarf, speaking these words, Gimli would have taken offence, but he had long since come to respect the familiarity that he and Legolas had, and he knew that his companion was right. He was getting old, far too old to be trying to wield that oar at least, for he was in his 260th year, and that was a good old age for a dwarf. Legolas, of course, looked just the same as he always had, the 122 years they had spent together barely scratching the surface of the many other years he had lived.

“Come, tell me your thoughts,” the elf broke into the silence. “You’ve been staring into the mist for a long time, and have barely glanced across the sea. Don’t you want to see Valinor?”

Gimli sighed heavily, his hand running through his beard as though his thoughts weighed heavily on his mind.

“I am thinking of Erebor,” he said, “But mostly I am thinking of the Blue Mountains; I should have liked to have seen them once more before we left.” It was an old conversation topic; they had spoken of it many times before.

“It would not have been how you remember it,” Legolas said softly, “I know why you wish to have seen it again.”

Of course he knew. He knew of the losses the dwarf had suffered in his childhood; the space in his heart left behind by the death of many of his kin, especially some of those closest to him.

“It is not so wrong as to wish to see them again,” he added in a quieter tone, “Nor as impossible as you think.”

Gimli shook his head.

“They reside in the Halls of Waiting, where Mahal has gathered them to be reborn,” he said, “Not the Undying Lands.”

Legolas’ lips curved into a small smile.

“They are not, my dear Gimli, as different as one might think.”

* * *

Before too long, the shores of Valinor rose up before them, and the white sands welcomed their boat as it settled.

“We are here,” Legolas said, looking around in great wonderment at the beauty of the green rolling hills and the bright sky. “We are finally here.”

Gimli did not speak; he could not. To be faced with such beauty, an Elvish beauty, took his breath away, and he simply let the cool sea breeze ruffle his beard a little before he sighed contently.

Suddenly, Legolas was leaping over the side and onto the shore, holding out a hand for the dwarf to follow him, before he let out a sudden joyous cry of surprise.

“Gimli! Your beard!” he almost shouted, though to shout would have disrupted the calmness of the land.

Confused, Gimli lifted his beard to his eyes and was immediately startled to discover that it was not longer as white with age as it had been, but the deep red of his youth again.

“It is the air of this place,” the elf explained, “Everyone must return to their prime.”

They just stared at each other for a moment, revelling in the return of things to how they remembered them best, before the sound of footsteps on the ship’s boards brought them back to the present.

Turning together, they were met by a sight that neither had been entirely convinced that they would ever see again. For there, in front of them, looking as though they’d just left Rivendell many years ago, were Merry, Pippin and Aragorn. There was moment of stunned silence, before the five were reunited once more, hugging and laughing with each other in relief.

And that’s when they realised that they were not alone. There was suddenly a great shout of joy from over the sand dunes and the distinct call of Gimli’s name.

“Gimli!”

“Cousin!”

The dwarf’s head whipped around in shock at the familiar voices, just in time to catch sight of the newcomers reaching the top of the sand dunes before hurtling down towards him. The wind whipped their hair around their heads, braids flying, as they came running; it seemed as though they were almost gliding over the sand in their haste. Kíli had a tight grip on Fíli’s hand, dragging his older brother after him as he waved his free hand in the air to catch his cousin’s attention.

It was mere seconds before the three met and threw their arms around each other in a fierce embrace. It felt a little odd to knowing that where he’d once been the youngest and the two heirs had been the older cousins he’d looked up to, he was much older than them now; and one look at Kíli’s wide brown eyes reminded him that he had practically still been a dwarfling when he’d died.

“The others are waiting for you,” Fíli said, patting Gimli firmly on the shoulder and unwinding his younger brother from their kin, who was now looking mildly uncomfortable at the long arms wrapped tightly around his torso. There was no question as to who these others were for it was not hard enough to guess.

Finally, the eldest prince stepped away from his cousin, bowing politely to others gathered on the shoreline; he’d met Legolas exactly two centuries ago, deep in the realm of Mirkwood, but the man and the two hobbits were unfamiliar. They watched with some sort of vague understanding, but while the man’s eyes seemed to spark with recognition, the two halflings just smiled innocently.

“Fíli, at your service; and this is my brother, Kíli,” the blond dwarf introduced himself, nudging his brother into bowing as well.

The two hobbits grinned even wider, if this was possible.

“Merry,” said one.

“And Pippin,” said the other.

“At your service,” they chorused, bowing low as they stifled their giggles, although their movements rocked the boat in which they were still standing, the sand shifting around them as the man had to reach out to steady them.

“I like them,” Kíli whispered into his brother’s ear, “Can we keep them?”

“Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” the man spoke next, lifting the two hobbits down into the sand before stepping out of the boat himself. “Former King Elessar of Gondor. We met once before, many years ago in Rivendell. Your company sought the council of Lord Elrond before continuing on your quest. I was just a boy then by the name of Estel.” He smiled warmly. “Lindir was most upset by the antics in the fountain.”

Both dwarf princes were suddenly struck by the image of a young boy, his eyes bright as he hid behind one of the colonnades when the dwarves passed through the Elvish halls. It had been just a fleeting glance, but the child they had seen was most definitely now the tall man who stood before them.

“We remember you,” Fíli spoke for both of them, and the man clasped their hands warmly in greeting.

“And you remember me also?” Legolas asked suddenly, though he was certain that the dwarves had not forgotten him, nor his father.

“Of course we do,” Kíli replied, bouncing on his toes in anticipation, “And we want to hear all about how you two managed to become such close companions, but first, everyone’s waiting for us so let’s go.”

Fíli went to apologise for his younger brother’s lack of manners, but found himself being dragged away by the hand before he had a chance to speak.

They reached the top of the hill altogether, five of them seeing the fields of Valinor for the first time, while the other two were simply returning home. They were faced with the cool Elvish walkways leading down into the home of the Council which awaited them. There was a gathering of Elves huddled together on the marble steps; the figure of Lord Elrond stood out the clearest, standing firm in the centre of the courtyard to greet them as they approached.

“I see that Fíli and Kíli have found you already instead of waiting for the proper welcome,” the elf said, sending a smile at the two dwarves, who had the grace to blush at the slight reprimand. “Though I can see why they did,” he continued, “They are always most excited to see their kin here. Indeed, when young Ori arrived I thought they were going to send him into shock when they tried to carry him all the way here in their haste.”

Ori! The name struck a chord in Gimli’s heart, but a quick glance around the courtyard did not reveal the dwarf in question to him.

Lord Elrond threw his arms wide as he came closer to them, motioning to the kingdom around him.

“Welcome, Meriadoc and Peregrin,” he spoke to the two hobbits, motioning for them to come forward. “Welcome, King Elessar, Legolas Greenleaf and Gimli, Elf-friend. It would seem that the Fellowship is whole once again.”

Gimli’s eyes went wide at the elf’s words, and he knew that the expressions on his companions’ own faces mirrored his own. Never again had he thought that he would see some of his dearest friends again after the War of the Ring and the breaking of the Fellowship, but it would see that these thoughts were unbidden, for suddenly the crowd parted, and there they were again, standing together as they had done before Elrond’s Council.

It was not entirely clear who moved first, but the four hobbits met somewhere in the middle, Merry and Pippin being pulled into tight embraces by Frodo and Sam, both looking much the same as they had done many years ago. Although Frodo’s eyes were not so wearied by his burden any longer, and they shone as they had done when Gimli had first met him.

What surprised the dwarf the most was the sight of Boromir standing before them all, a wide smile on his face as Aragorn hurried over to greet him, the two of them laughing as though they had never been parted. He had never heard of Men entering the Undying Lands, but when he thought about it, he had not thought that many Dwarves or Hobbits resided there for eternity either.

“Those who are pure of heart may pass into the West as well, Gimli, son of Glóin,” Lord Elrond spoke softly behind him, as though he had spoken his thoughts aloud, which he most certainly had not. “They are permitted entry by the Eldar.”

A firm hand fell onto Gimli’s shoulder, but it was not the elf lord, but instead Legolas.

“Come, Gimli,” he said, “Your cousins are insisting that there are others here who you should see.”

Nodding, the dwarf allowed himself to be led by Fíli and Kíli, Legolas somewhere a short distance behind, up the marble steps and into the halls themselves.

For perhaps the hundredth time in the past hour, Gimli found himself stunned by yet another sight which he’d never thought that he would see again, for gathered under the banners and tapestries, armed to the teeth and just as he remembered them from his childhood, was the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Bombur was just as round, maybe even more so; his brother, Bofur, still wore that ridiculous threadbare hat which all the dwarflings of Ered Luin had tried to steal at least once in their lives; and Bifur still smiled perpetually, despite the axe embedded in his forehead. Dori was fussing over Ori’s gloves, while the younger dwarf tried to swat his older brother away; Nori watched from a short distance with the air of someone who knew exactly how the situation would end. Fíli and Kíli had rejoined their uncle, who was deep in conversation with Balin, the elderly dwarf tugging on his beard a few times in thought before he turned and motioned for the rest of the company to part and allow two figures through: Gimli’s closest family, his uncle, Óin, and his father, Glóin.

And before he knew it, he was being pulled into the middle of his kin and being jostled and slapped on the back from all sides.

“We’re still waiting on Gandalf,” a small voice beside him spoke up suddenly, and he looked over to see Bilbo Baggins, restored to his prime as they all were, just as he had been after the Battle of the Five Armies when Gimli had first come to Erebor and had seen him. Bilbo was the Company’s burglar; as a young dwarf, Gimli had been brought up on such stories and it was difficult to picture the hobbit as anything other than that.

“He’s wizard,” Bofur replied, “He does as he chooses.”

But he was also not the only member of their story to be absent, and Gimli mentally berated himself for failing to notice beforehand.

“Your company is one short,” he said, “Where is Dwalin?” He knew the rumours of the long life of Erebor’s former Captain of the Guard, but he had not realised that he was still living; perhaps he should have made more of an effort to go and see him one last time.

“He will join us when he is ready,” Thorin spoke for the first time, the sureness and regal tone of his voice reminding Gimli why many Dwarves had been willing to lay down their lives to follow him as their king.

And as though his words had suddenly rung home, there was an almighty blast from a horn from a watchtower high up in the citadel.

“Another ship,” Fíli’s voice was barely above a whisper, his arm suddenly snaking out and catching his brother by the waist, pulling the brunet dwarf closer into him. The action did not seem to faze the rest of the company, and Gimli found himself strangely unsurprised by their relationship. Dwarves loved only once in their lives, and if his cousins had become each other’s Ones, then he was not to question Mahal’s blessing on the two of them.

“Do you think it could be Mister Dwalin?” Kíli asked in the same hushed tone as his brother.

To his left, a slow smile spread across Balin’s face. He knew his brother all too well.

“Aye, laddie,” he said, “It’s him.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wonder who can spot the line I borrowed from An Unexpected Journey - it's taken from just before one of my favourite scenes :)


End file.
